#sherlockxoc

The taxi pulls up to Saint Bart's Hospital and John and Claire spill out of the car almost before it's done braking. Claire's heart pounds in her chest, her hands shake and sweat, and the feeling that something terrible is going to happen squeezes her chest like a vice. She follows close beside John as they hurry closer to the hospital.

John's phone goes off and he fishes it out of his pocket and answers it on the first ring. "Hey, Sherlock, are you okay?"

Claire's heart leaps and she grabs John's arm. "Speakerphone, John."

He stops suddenly, Claire almost running right into him.

He turns around and Claire sees the confused look on his face, eyebrows furrowed. "No, we're coming in."

Claire is close enough to the speaker to hear the tones of Sherlock's voice. The words are garbled, but it's all in how they are said. Her heart sinks further.

"Where?" John makes eyes contact with Claire and she can see similar emotions she's feeling in his eyes.

He puts the cell on speakerphone and begins to move back the way they came.

Claire releases his arm and follows. "Sherlock? What's going on?" She raises her voice a little to make sure he hears her.

Sherlock's voice comes through, urgent. "Stop there." They do immediately. "Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop."

Claire turns and looks up, her hand going to her mouth for a moment. "Oh, my God."

John shuffles closer to Claire, holding the phone between them, also looking up at Sherlock. And lo and behold, there he is, coat billowing in the breeze, an outline so familiar to Claire, she recognizes him instantly, even though he's little more than a stick figure.

Sherlock's voice shakes. 'I- I can't come down, so we'll have to do it like this."

"What's going on?" John's face tightens; he knows something is wrong too.

"An apology." Sherlock pauses. "It's all true, everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

Claire shakes her head, her voice cracking. "Sherlock, whatever this is, just come down. Let us help you."

John stares up at him in disbelief.

"You can't help because- I'm a fake." His voice turns tight, emotional. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

That's not true, it can't be. Claire doesn't believe it.

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up." John shifts his weight, a sign of the stress of the situation. "The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"You knew about me too, Sherlock," Claire says, her hands clenching at her sides as she struggles to keep her voice even. "You told me my whole damn life story."

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could," John and Claire say at the same time.

Sherlock laughs, a small watery and self deprecating laugh. It sends a bolt through Claire's heart.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." He sniffles and, oh God, is Sherlock crying? "It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

Claire's eyes sting. "Right, I'm coming up to get you."

She takes a few decisive steps forward, but Sherlock's voice, sharp and almost desperate, stops her. "No! Stay exactly where you are, Claire. Don't move."

Claire shuffles with leaden feet back to John's side. John's arm is raised as if wishing to pluck Sherlock off the roof and put him safely back on the ground.

Sherlock extends his arm too. "Keep your eyes fixed on me." His voice most definitely sounds tearful. "Please, will you do this for me?"

Claire's words gets stuck in her throat, but John voices the question in her mind, his head shaking. "Do what?"

"This phone call – it's my note. It's what people do, don't they?" There's uncertainty in the underlying shakiness in his tone. "- leave a note?"

Claire's mind goes blank and she reels. Leave a note? What does he mean? When do people leave notes? She hears John's voice, but it's garbled, she can't understand it. Sherlock can't-

"Goodbye, John. Goodbye- Claire." His voice breaks on her name, too many emotions in that single syllable to discern.

Claire snatches the phone from John, holding it close to her face. "No, no, Sherlock. Please, don't do this."

His tone is quiet, shaky, but also decisive. "I can't. I have no choice... I'll just have to owe you."

Sherlock drops the phone and the line goes dead. He spreads his arms, as if he intends to fly away, the wind catching his coat making him look like he actually has wings, like he's an angel.

Then he steps off the roof.

The phone in Claire's hand clatters to the ground and she screams.

"Sherlock!"

He goes down, down, down- and then-

-

Claire peels herself from the pavement, running with John toward Bart's. There's already people gathered around-. She and John reach them and Claire sees him.

Sherlock, lifeless, bleeding- gone.

She drops to her knees, hands covering her mouth. Her face is wet, her chest and throat hurts. She can't take her eyes off him. They pick up his body and wheel him away. Claire doesn't get up, John remains crouched on the ground.

Neither of them move.

                                                           ***

John walks away from the grave, squeezing Claire's shoulder as he passes. She holds her black shawl closer to herself and stares down at his name.

Sherlock Holmes.

"I can't stop thinking about what you said. How are you going to stop owing me if-" She stops, choking on a sob. She forces it down, but is unable to stop the tears. "Why'd you do it? Why couldn't you just wait. John and I could have helped you." She bows her head, covering her face with her hand. "Why couldn't you wait for me? I never got to tell you- to tell you how I feel." A sob forces its way out of her. "I love you, Sherlock. Not that it matters much anymore, but God, I love you and I know you never would feel the same about me, but that's okay. I'd give anything to have you back-"Claire stops again, standing there crying by herself for several minutes. Finally, the sobs subside and she pulls her hand away from her face. She touches his grave stone. "You owe me, Sherlock, so you better get your ass back here and make it up to me."

With that, she turns and walks away, wiping at her eyes.